Mood:  not sure

Frodo remembers one of the great scenes in all of moviedom when dueling banjos represented a downhill run that was anything but fun for the canoeists of DELIVERANCE.  It is not uncommon for the Hobbit to find himself listening for the music and finding something unexpected.  Today, that realization was discovered in the empty aisles of the TARGET store.

Where is everybody?  A nice suburban location with a comparatively affluent clientele on a cold and windswept winter's day for a major retailer is generally arush with escapees from cabin fever.  Not so this day.  Frodo could have stood in the middle of the store wearing lederhosen and called at the top of his voice for a throat lozenge and nobody was there to notice.

While Sam piloted the motorcar, for a change, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, gazed at doggie television as it passed by his position in the rear seat, Frodo looked around, as if he were on a nature walk in search of small signs of a coming spring.  The German grocery chain that seems well-stocked with a limited variety of bulk goods and unknown name brands had a steady flow of traffic, or so it seemed to Frodo.  The charitable organization which recently seems to be selling donated goods from shiny new locations in strip shopping centers was packed, people buying heavier coats and such.

Cable network news, not the local media, reported today that of all the 50 states, the people of Georgia are least prepared to exist on savings.  Should a citizen of the area about the Shire lose his job, and suffer without income, that person would have less than a few months of his own capital at hand.  Dead last in all the Union.

What did they do with what they had?  What are they going to do?  What are we going to do?  Yet, attendance for the ATLANTA BRAVES will approach 3,000,000 no matter what.  People will pay the $7 it costs for a single beer at Turner Field.  Neill Diamond will sing to a sell-out crowd at $75-150 per ticket in just a few months.  Even more interesting is the fact that, with the exception of an occasional OBAMA sticker, like the one on his motorcar, there are none broadcasting allegiance to one of the Republicants.  Frodo has not seen a bumper sticker for weeks, and the last one he saw was "CAIN IS ABLE."

Frodo will have to spend a little less time in the woods, and pay greater attention to the traffic from the co-pilot's position.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, will not object at all.  Sam couldn't be happier, Frodo's driving has always been of concern. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  spacey

Frodo decided that he would sit and listen to one entire political speech from beginning to end.  He figured that he had already heard every imaginable and supercilious statement in sound bites, and it would be an appropriate waste of his time to measure the construction of said thoughts by one who would be President.  Fortunately, Willard and Santini had already spoken, so Frodo was spared another rendition of "America the Beautiful" and was immune from another assault on 21st century sectarian thought.  Saint Paul was up in Maine, and nobody really seemed to know why, leaving only the Newtster as the subjkect of Frodo's analysis.

Unbelievably, the former Speaker of the House repeated most of the diatribe from a recent news conference where he went into great length about his perceived activities upon his inauguration and prior to his next act of adultery.  There was an exception however, and it had to do with the Moon.

A few days ago the proposal had been made to re-commit resources to the nation's lunar exploration efforts.  Newt suggested that he would, before his second term commenced, establish an American lunar colony of 13,000 adventurers, and that before he left office, the colony would apply for and receive American statehood.

Frodo would like to point out that his eminence has never stepped to the plate in behalf of the 550,000 American citizens who populate the District of Columbia, and who have continuously sought statehood for decades, if not centuries.  Frodo admits to being confused about the distinction; doesn't it seem logical that Newt I would win the adoration, loyalty, and support of an awful lot more potential voters if he initiated statehood for old D.C.?

Perhaps the 13,000 residents of "Moon Base Gingrich"  would all be former students and girl friends from the University of West Georgia?  They would be all white, wouldn't they?

Hmmm!

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:28 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  irritated

Larry O'Neill and Byron Trapnell were bullies in every sense of the word.  Although neither flushed Frodo's head down a toilet nor stuffed him into a locker, that was probably only due to the fact that collectively they were not intelligent enough to have thought of something so complex.  True it is, given the present standards, both would have been dismissed from school and would have been featured on the local evening news in handcuffs.  School had many negative features for the smallest and the weakest.  Without doubt the exploits of these two miniature hoodlums was among the worst of school-day memories for the Hobbit.

But they were not THE worst.

Friday was the day that Frodo came to detest.  Rather than a heaping plate of shepherd's pie, or a cheeseburger, or even something dubbed "mystery meat", the Friday public school menu was always the same.

Fishsticks.

No definition to "fishsticks" was ever offered.  Were they greasy cod, whitefish, catfish, tuna, shark, carp, or something from the deepest depths of the East River?  The only certainty was that, come Friday, it was going to be fishsticks.

Frodo grew up hating Catholics.  The grubby little fat guys ate the fishsticks as if they actually liked them.  Frodo came to believe however that they only consumed the garbage because some religious father figure, who may have been a woman, would smack the shit out of them if they didn't eat their damn fishsticks.

Frodo resented the fact that, every Friday, in order to appease the Catholics, all the rest of the students in the School of the Shire had to face the weekend with greasy fishsticks stuck in the intestinal tract.  Time has the habit of soothing the irritations of youth alas, so Frodo eventually got over his prejudice.  At least that is what he thought until this little battle over "contraception" raised its ugly head.

The issue, as the entire potential electorate of the small blue planet knows, is that the "Bishops" in Middle Earth have collectively attacked the guaranteed services for contraceptive purposes which current law allows.  The argument being, from their side, that it is wrong for the government to provide services which are contrary to their religious beliefs.  On the other side is the fact that 98% of all the women of Middle Earth, including the Catholic populace, actually utilize contraception, even when the Church says they must not. 

In order to avoid his darker side, Frodo is proposing a compromise.  Since he has consumed more fishsticks than he ever deserved, because of his Catholic friends, maybe they can keep their beliefs to themselves, and tell their Bishops to suck wind.  

By the way, should either Messrs. O'Neill or Trapnell ever stumble upon the wisdom of Frodo, he'd like to take an opportunity to tell them both to "eat fishsticks." 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:15 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  spacey

In the late 1930's radio was becoming king.  The opportunities that technological change makes available are typically omnipresent, and those days were no different.  On the other side of the border with Mexico, entrepreneurs sprang to life developing super-stations with wattage far beyond the limitations placed on domestic broadcasters.  This afforded stations with call letters like XERA, physically placed in towns with names like Del Rio, to send their signals almost all the way to Canada.  Sponsors, with names like the Consolidated Royal Chemical Corporation, were anxious to draw listeners who might also become customers and that meant that entertainers of the day had a ready market for their talent and services.

The founding owner of XERA was a gentleman named John Romulus Brinkley, and that's "Doctor" Brinkley to you, dear reader.  The opulent estate of Doctor Brinkley is legend even today.  Let it be said that the successfully transplanted palm trees placed about the swimming pool each sat atop 400-pound blocks of ice beneath the root systems.  Expense was no concern to Doctor Brinkly, particularly given the revenue.

Doctor Brinkley informed the world about his medical miracles through the entertainment he provided via XERA.  As an alumni of the Kansas City Eclectic School of Medicine, this Jackson County, North Carolina, native was sensitive to the common male complaint that time had withdrawn the "pep" from masculinity.  In response, the good doctor offered to graft goat glands onto the testicles of the afflicted.  When the potential patient arrived at XERA he brought $750 with him, payable in advance.  The operation, performed under local anesthesia, took about 15 minutes.

To accentuate the audience, Brinkley needed to expand the good news of his miracles to more and more increasingly susceptible people.  This brought A.P., Sara, and Maybelle Carter to Del Rio, and their unique musical skills to the world.  Famous already in "country" or "hillbilly" circles, the virtual nationwide broadcast brought the rural and agrarian populations together all listening to "Will the Circle Be Unbroken," "Wildwood Flower," and "John Henry", twice a day, every day.  The audience stayed, and listened to Dr. Brinkley.

Frodo has often wondered about the linkage between conservative miracle workers, and the extensive population that they address over the radio.  He never imagined that it is a part of traditional Americana.  Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O'Reilly, and Fox & Friends are sending a message to the susceptible, just as Doctor Brinkley did so many years ago.  Now we understand why conservatives have no balls.

Frodo strongly suggests "Will You Miss Me When I'm Gone," by Mark Zwonitzer & Charles Hirshberg.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:42 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  blue

Title, mood, topic all interrelated this evening.

740 participants in the Second World War die every single day, including this one.  All known to Frodo are now gone.

10,000 Americans retire every single day, and it will continue for years to come.  Frodo marches.

The last surviving participant in the First World War died today.  She was a Brit, and Frodo will not disparage her memory.  He will honor it.

Sometimes the enormity of the numbers, as we all learned from Henry Paulson and George W. Bush, are such that they simply dwarf the medium.  The magnitude of the change that takes place before us is simply not comprehensible.  Our institutions change before our eyes, and all of the rules that once were now seem to relate to games that are played by children, and not grown men.

For those challenged by Frodo's opening, your hint is "Nights in White Satin."

Enjoy.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:30 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  chillin'

Without boring you to death, dear reader, Frodo provides a few sentences of background.  The last time around, in the rather arcane area known as Georgia, three candidates did everything posible to win the disdain of the Hobbit.  Roy Barnes, a one-term Governor, defeated by a semi-literate homey from someplace called Bon Air, ran again, as a Democrat.  Nathan Deal, a turn-coat who did everything but expunge all of his assets in personal bankruptcy, ran as a Republicant, and he won.  Sponsored by the Teahouse Party, or whatever it is that the Neanderthals call themselves, Karen Handel carried a Reublicant label into the Republicant Primary before losing to Deal.

During the campaign, Handel was quoted as saying that she was "Pro-choice," and therefore she did not support Planned Parenthood and its policies of birth control.  Karen Handel was a non-college graduate from Gwinnett County.  Childless, grossly overweight, and totally sure that all those assets made her the people's choice was chagrined by her defeat, and thusly disappeared.  Good riddance thought Frodo, no more.

Unfortunately it seems, this past April Handel accepted the position of Vice President of Public Policy in Dallas, Texas, with the organization known popularly as the Komen Race for the Cure.

Frodo listened intently as the Founder and CEO of the Komen Foundation denied, on live television, to Andrea Mitchell, that Handel was responsible for the recent kerfluffle.  Frodo knows a liar when he sees one, and he knows a lie when he hears it.

The Atlanta Journal & Constitution carried a front-page story this morning, ending eith the admonition that no one can prove that Handel was involved, but they did not deny it either.

In sum, Karen Handel was from Gwinnett County, she re-located, apparently willingly, to the worst place in all of our small blue planet, Texas.  She is a Tea Party favorite (which requires that one not have any formal education, be at least fifty pounds overweight, and never admit to their racial biases), and she will say or do anything.

The good thing is, now that the leadership of the Komen Foundation have apologized and pulled in their horns, is that now we know where Handel is, and we can make sure that all of the bread crumbs leading back to Georgia are washed away.  Without them, she couldn't find her ass with both hands.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:50 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  energetic

There are a number of small creeks that wend their way past the Shire and toward the rivers that fill the Gulf of Mexico.  Frodo knows many of them as arterial escape routes for coyotes and immature bears from the occupied mountains and crowded suburbs reaching ever closer to the birthing den.  In periods of abnormal rainfall the creeks back up and spread into the lower yards and streetcorners supported by man-made drains.  Frodo remembers the old saying that "to destroy everything that Man has ever created would restore Eden."

Frodo noted the rivulet rising slowly as it filled an obscure pond to new levels.  After three or four walks passing by, he smiled at the tell-tale flashes of yellow wrapped around young trees bordering thereon.  Those which had stood erect in prior days were slowly being assemblaged into an apparently nearly watertight obstruction to the flow of water toward the pond.  The residence of the engineers so engaged was apparent nearby, but it was high noon, and Frodo knew that all he could do was observe the resultant efforts expended before the dawn of this day.

There was no flooding of the low intersection.  Instead, the waters were spreading into a pond of greater circumference, and Frodo marvelled at the ingenuity of those whose engineering skills were not developed at MIT, Cal Tech, VPI, or Georgia Tech.  No longer would wayward automobiles be wary of flooded streets since the beavers had solved the problem which has cost the taxpayers so much.

Frodo was gamely tempted to take some pictures and draft a Letter to the Editor in order to share the technological wonder with others around the Shire.  Then he wised up.  He could foresee the day when suddenly the bedazzled would order the capture of the beavers, and the reintroduction of the flooded streets as a result.  The beavers, after all, had big teeth and they probably carry rabies, or something else that would worry part-time parents.  Frodo decided, wisely, to keep his mouth shut, and to spend a few minutes every day remembering how much he loved the Disney tale known as "Beaver Valley."

Frodo had never really been exposed to something so urban unique so close by as this family of beavers.  But he swears that he can hear that marvelous baritone in his own ear telling him about the wonders of Beaver Valley.  It was there today, and Frodo knows that it will be there tomorrow.  Like a child in line to enter "Adventureland," Frodo dances from toe-to-toe.  A few minutes of magic while strolling through a place called Frodo's "Beaver Valley" is a magical this day as it was on a black-and-white a million years ago.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:12 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  party time!

"I have worked with him for over five years, and I swear that is the first I ever knew that he could sing."  Frodo could not help but think of Bill Clinton, wearing sunglasses, and playing the saxophone, as he watched President Obama croon Al Green to his audience  Why, he thought to himself, is he so surprised, simply because he may be tone-deaf and unable to carry a tune, that other products of the music-as-art generation have ability to remind all of us how much this world owes us?  If it were not for us, everybody would still be dancing to "String of Pearls" by Glenn Miller.  Were it so, Frodo would be at the bar.

The same day, Frodo considered Obama's most likely opponent, and noted the following about presidential candidates during his lifetime.  Dwight Eisenhower had recurrent heart problems.  Ronald Reagan had bouts with dementia while he was still in the White House.  John Kennedy suffered with severe back pain resulting from injuries and disease.  With these lone exceptions, Frodo can say that the universe of presidential aspirants, save one, have been in pretty good shape.  Newt Gingrich is certainly more than 100 pounds overweight, and no one dare aver that the situation is "glandular."

There is a threat to the national interest by he who would seek to become a public employee, once again.  The sheer gluttony of Newt Gingrich is one of those things which everyone thinks about, but no one talks about, simply because we all have "issues" like obesity with which we must deal.  Quite realistically, given his immense waistline, it is likely, coupled with the stress of the office, that Newt Gingrich would not endure a single term in the Oval Office absent cardio or pulmonary problems of earthquake magnitude.  Then again, he might be taking a tumble with Callista (or her successor) and his ticker gives way in mid-stroke.

Frodo, for once, is serious.  Newt Gingrich and his apparent disregard for his own health is a consideration for every resident of Middle Earth amid the threats from Mordor and beyond.  Imagine if Sarah Palin, or Herman Cain, or Ron Paul were to accede to power because of the demise of the "President."  Newt Gingrich owes the electorate a personal assurance to lose at least 100 pounds between this very moment and Election Day, 2012.

Why don't you bring up the issue Willard?  Getting rid of 100 pounds of Gingrich fat would be your first accomplishment since "Romney care."   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:02 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  quizzical

Frodo had established an exercise routine that took him to a gymnasium twice every week, and this had continued for more than four years.  Briefly, procedure dictated that once he changed from his street clothes, he would place them in a locker and snap his combination lock thereon.  When he returned from his workout, he would, from memory, spin the dial appropriately and retrieve his street clothes.  That is, that is how it took place until the day that Bilbo died.  Frodo could no longer recall the combination.

The ownership of the gymnasium was wise enough to keep a bolt-cutter for moments just such as these.

To this very moment, Frodo is unable to recall that combination.  Tonight, he was confronted with a question regarding a check written during the same time period, and he peered into the telephone handset as if it were the property of some alien force intent upon the consumption of brain matter in Hobbits.  Frodo rarely loses checks, but this was a mystery of time, as well as space.

Bilbo was convinced that lesser individuals, be they dark-skinned or Spanish-speaking, if not both, were intent on every imaginable felonious assault on the abode of Bilbo.  Every time there was a perceived threat, Bilbo would change every lock in the house.  Then Bilbo would lose one of the keys, and that meant that every lock would again be subject to change, and, since both Frodo and related Hobbits were great distances away, that meant that a set of keys would arrive, in the hands of a trusted postal person after every such incident.

When Bilbo's house was finally sold, it was no mean trick attempting to get appropriate keys to the trusted real estate property-disposer.  When finally able to end his involvement, Frodo disposed of several pounds of keys, and there is no exaggeration in this tale of woe by the Hobbit.  A few days ago, perhaps as the most subtle of jokes, Frodo received a package containing several pounds of keys.

How, if not where, to dispose of this final rememberance has confused Frodo as if it were a task of importance.  Perhaps he will take one key, each year, and include it in a Christmas card to she who sent him this gift.  Then again, he may put a key into each of the Christmas cards he sends, without explanation, thereby confounding everyone he knows.  More likely, alas, he will simply forget about this good idea, and leave all the keys in a single box, lock it, and throw away the key.  In the box there will be a note in Spanish. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:57 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  smelly

Only the area known as greater Salt Lake City contains a larger number of Mormons than does the area known as greater Washington, D.C.  Frodo, in his days before the Shire, grew up in the Nations Capital and, therefore not unsurprisingly, went to school with and got to be friends with, a goodly number of Mormons.  As a general rule, he found his peers to be in great physical shape, athletic, attractive, good students, and hard working.   They also did not drink or smoke, rarely danced, but seemed to have a tendency to produce babies during their teenaged years.  Frodo always somewhat assumed that there was a need to let off steam.

Frodo specifically recalls a brother and a sister whose paths crossed his own.  The sister was extremely attractive, and Frodo was filled with juvenile lust in her direction.  Frodo shamed himself more than once in his head-long pursuit thereof, teaching him the lesson that even the best of men will throw themselves in front of a train if the temptation is thus so great.  Frodo's association with the brother was certainly less intense, since he had to admit that much of that friendship was probably an avenue to potentially curry favor with his sister.

Soon after graduation from the highest school, Frodo's friend announced that he was going on a "mission."  Frodo intitially thought this was his friend's methodology to escape the "draft," which was a much greater threat than any today can imagine.  Beyond that, Frodo did not think much about a "mission," nor did he have much interest, since his lust had waned toward the sister of his friend in lieu of more achievable conquests.

As circumstances sometimes permit, Frodo found himself studying in Germany, not far from where his friend was involved in his "mission."  Note that Frodo was immune from the "draft" while his studies continued so Frodo became rather accomplished in that regard.  Frodo found where his friend was living, and went to visit him.  When he arrived, Frodo was also introduced to the team-mate (for want of a better term) who lived and worked with his friend on their religious endeavors.  There was an immediate and concentrated effort therein to "recruit" Frodo, and it did not sit particularly well with the Hobbit.  It also became abundantly clear that there was a very strong resistance to other religious groups who tend to recruit members from other denominations, most notably the "Catholics."

During the visit, Frodo lapsed frequently into the kind of jargon that dominates teenaged conversation, which often utilize words not suitable for mixed company, if you will.  It became very clear that the team-mate of Frodo's friend was uncomfortable with almost everything about Frodo, language notwithstanding.  After a single night with the two "missionaries," Frodo found an excuse to end the visit early and return to his studies.  Frodo has never seen, nor spoken with, his teenaged friend since those days so many years ago.  Frodo has always assumed that he was deemed to be "not worth the effort."

Frodo has thought a lot about Willard Romney of the Church of Latter Day Saints (LDS, to the uninitiated) and of Frodo's particular knowledge of the people and their motivations.  Frodo theorizes that Willard is on a "mission" (be it far different from the one oft-mentioned by Bros. Belushi and Ackroyd in "The Blues Brothers").  Willard, to Frodo, has taken on the task of bringing the "word" of Joseph Smith, the angel Gabriel, et al to the larger population of Middle Earth, and he will bear any burden, or pay any price in order to further that goal.  That includes saying anything, or advocating any position, regardless, in order to win that which he has set out to accomplish.

Frodo has no intention of documenting a treatise against the religious beliefs of others.  Nothing herein will be nailed to the front door of any church, synagogue, or temple.  Rather, Frodo simply offers, based on his own experience, that there are those among us in Middle Earth with a different agenda, and it is his opinion that Willard Romney is out there to help increase membership under the watchful eye of Gabriel and his horn.  To get there, he will say or do anything (and who is to say that he hasn't?).   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:49 AM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink